The fire of his philosopher friend’s farewell gently passes into a different, more painful memory, on another night not too long ago. A recent pyre, made of a dark and painful grief, tinged with tears and the shearing of honey sunlight.
He turns towards the Servant, his face hurt in frustration and anger, as he struggles to come to terms with the omens and the cursed destiny they have prepared for him, blue eye shivering brightly
“But. Tell me honestly, Servant. Am I supposed to accept simply this sorry old fate, and let my hunger for life - to learn more, to see more, to become more - be taken away by mere death? And
if I must, what then is the point of all of my life’s labours - if
before I can fulfil them to my heart’s content, alas! I turn to dust?!”
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